


Problem Child

by soloproject



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: inception_kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soloproject/pseuds/soloproject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for Inception Kink Meme: Arthur/Eames. Arthur is the lonely high school student; Eames is the substitute (forced to a long stay due to Arthur's original teacher being ill). All the girls think Eames is dreamy and so does Arthur. Eames feels the same. Bonus for virgin!Arthur and Eames worrying about being a dirty old man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Problem Child

**Author's Note:**

> Just re-read this for the first time in ever. I am actually hazy whether it's underage or not as Arthur is a HS senior but to be safe, I tagged it.

It’s a Monday morning, in the crucial weeks coming up to the SATs when Mr. Nolan fell ill and was confined to the hospital. When Arthur heard the news, he felt like a character in a movie caught in a hall that suddenly stretches and the sweat beads on his forehead in high definition. Arthur’s a good student—the best student, really—he’s not worried that he’ll pass or fail the SATs but Mr. Nolan was the teacher who understood him, spoke to him and because of that, the other students tended to give Arthur a wide berth. It wasn’t that he was mean or purposefully avoidant-- Arthur just often felt like he had no time for any of their shit. He was going to get that scholarship and leave this town and everything in it and be the best architect ever.

The secretary had assured him that there would be a substitute, immediately in fact, so that Arthur wouldn’t have to worry at all. _Relax, Arthur,_ the secretary told him, _Mr. Nolan was going to be just fine._ He was a senior in high school and he should have a little fun.

Arthur scowled as he made his way to the classroom. Fun was for people with time, people who were in no hurry to make something of themselves. There were very few people worthy of his attention and they were all either younger or older than he was.

“Good morning, class.”

Heads swerved to take in the man leaning against the door frame. He was dressed like a man who intended to seen academic and sedate but then had slowly unraveled as the day wore on. The soft looking jeans seemed to cling as his thighs for dear life; he was wearing a plain gray sweater vest but the collared button down underneath it was a wild orange pattern, as if he had pulled the vest over it to contain its wildness. The smile he flashed at them seemed to echo of the same.

“Call me Mr. Eames,” he said, walking to the front of the class. He wasn’t very tall but he was in great shape as far as Arthur could tell. His hair was neatly combed back but the stubble crawled right down neck, framing his ridiculously beautiful mouth. The accent was British. Mr. Eames was also empty-handed.

“Oh, hell no,” Arthur breathed. Mr. Eames was a substitute and for Mr. Nolan and Arthur’s grades, there could be none.

\--

Mr. Eames didn’t want to run through any of the AP Sciences with them, nor did he want to, at the very least, go over SAT practice sheets or draft essays. Mr. Eames wanted them to climb trees with him and to carefully take apart the engine of Principal Saito’s very expensive car and stage sticky explosions of Diet Coke and Mentos in the gym. He wanted them to bring pictures of their pets and make macro posters out of them.

The class loved it, of course, so Arthur—after futilely outlining his complaint to Vice Principal Cobb—took the period by himself in the library where it was quiet and there were no interruptions.

“Darling.”

Arthur nearly broke his number two pencil in surprise. Mr. Eames was sitting across from him at the table, sitting backwards in the chair and grinning at him.

“You never join the fun, Arthur,” Mr. Eames said.

“Where’s everyone else?” Arthur asked.

Mr. Eames shrugged. “Let them run off…decorate the gym for prom or whatever it is you silly Americans do to get laid.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Eames, but I’m trying to study here,” Arthur said, stiffly. “Seeing as you don’t bother to teach anything.”

“Ah, Arthur, I feel like an apology is in order,” Mr. Eames said, reaching up to scratch at his nose. “But since you’re not especially interested in apologies, I’m going to offer you extra credit.”

Arthur, who was about to open his mouth in protest, shut up immediately. “What?” He frowned.

“Extra credit! I bet you’d like that. You’ve already the highest grades I’ve seen of any kid, clearly you don’t need it but your extra-curriculars are a bit dry. Do this one thing for me and I will give you the nicest extra-curricular credit anyone has every seen, sealed, signed and bedazzled. MIT will eat you up! They’re always looking for more interesting nerds every year.” Eames said, his grin blinding.

Arthur scowled at that last one. “Alright, fine. What do you want me to do?”

“You’re going to find a date and you’re going to get yourself to the prom and you’re going to have fun doing it. You do this, I will give you the credit and you can have all the peace and quiet you can eat until Chris returns.”

 _That’s it,_ Arthur thought. _I’m doomed._

\--

“It really doesn’t sound so bad,” Ariadne said, carefully gluing her diorama of MC Escher’s House of Stairs. She’s a sweet-faced freshman on the same debate team as he and one of the few worthy of his attention. “You’re handsome, you’re smart…if you kick down the permanent withering face you always have on just a notch, I bet any girl would be happy to go out with you.”

“That’s really not the problem,” Arthur moaned into the pillow he was burying his face in.

“Then, what is?”

Arthur looked up at her. “Ariadne, why do you think I wear a three-piece suit to school now and then and no one bats an eye?”

Ariadne looked confused for a moment and then, “Oh. OH.” She snapped her fingers at him. “I thought you were being ironic!”

Arthur moaned into the pillow again.

\--

For a school so open and liberal, one would think it would be easier to find a date that it was in reality but it is still high school and whether one liked it or not, the students will still be cruel, hormones will still wreak havoc on everyone’s minds and stupid, unwelcome substitute teachers would take advantage of their two hours every other day with you to take the senior class swimming and show off a chest covered in tattoos and one slung low on his stomach proudly proclaiming “until I die out.” The girls are crazy about him. Arthur resolutely ignored the teasing looks and the casual “darlings” Eames tossed around—including how they only seem to be directed at him.

“Arthur! I’m looking forward to the prom, are you?” Mr. Eames would greet him in the hallway. Arthur’s poker face had gotten so good recently that he’d been cleaning all his parents’ friends out and yet the obvious remained: prom was looming and it loomed as large as Mr. Eames’ head in all of Arthur’s latest wet dreams.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Arthur said, rhythmically banging his head against the cool steel of his locker. That was the other thing—as far as men went, Arthur thought he had his type down: tallish dark and eye-browed like the entire Spanish National Team; certainly and most definitely NOT a dirty blond, dirty mouthed, dirty minded, lazy academic BEAR.

By the time Arthur caved and begged Ariadne to go with him to the prom, she just laughed in his face. “I’m already going with Robby Fischer,” she explained. “We’re going in a group in a party bus. You’re welcome to come. Besides,” Ariadne added. “I’d rather grow a beard than be a beard.”

Arthur could never win against her which is why he’s glad they’re on the same debate team.

\--

Arthur stalled until the last possible minute. He’d nearly asked Yusuf but Yusuf would be busy prom night, supplying the masses with organic, homemade roofies he’d probably grown in his mother’s flower garden. He could stay at home and correct about 6000 lines of computer code and then convert blueprints into 3D models but it’s prom night and there’s an English accent in his head that’s calling him a coward.

In the end, Arthur put on his special suit, with the skinny tie and the waistcoat, steeled all his nerves and went.

The prom was just as tacky and loud as Arthur expected it to be but there was still something sentimental and nostalgic about it that made people he hadn’t spoken to since the sixth grade clap him on the back and try to hug him. He watched Ariadne and Robby Fischer tear up the dance floor and when the music slowed down, watched a proud looking Vice Principal Cobb lead his wife towards the middle and sway with her, careful and adoring.

Arthur looked at his watch and pushed off from the wall.

“Leaving?” Mr. Eames came up to him. “Arthur, if I didn’t know you were the type who always tried his darnedest, I would at the very least call you a coward.”

Arthur sighed. “Mr. Eames, I did try and the offer was very tempting but—“

“But, nothing,” Mr. Eames said, suddenly. “I owe you an apology, Arthur, I think. I may have led you to believe I was staying a little longer but Chris returns tomorrow and I’m off to my next city. And I did enjoy every minute here, for reasons I hardly expected.”

Arthur’s surprised. Rakishly confident Mr. Eames suddenly seemed a little sheepish at that moment, chewing his bottom lip nervously. Arthur’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Mr. Eames, I—“

“No, listen, darling. I think you’re mature enough to process this information. I’m afraid my actions towards you may have been inappropriate at the very least, all the teasing and such. You’re a good student, the best I might add. Certainly unique.”

Arthur shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this here, Mr. Eames,” He said, leaning up to whisper it into Eames’ ear. He led Eames out to the empty school hall, trying all the classrooms doors until one opened.

“Arthur, this is all well and good and I won’t lie and say I wasn’t quite the experimenter back in the day but I do like being a teacher and you’re very young and a student—“

“Mr. Eames, I’m eighteen…and if it’s true that you’re leaving town tomorrow then this here right now is not going to kill either of us, is it?” Arthur reached up and tugged him down by the collar, fitting their bodies together against the surface of the door.

“You’re not going to set me up and run out of here screaming rape, are you?” Eames said, breaking off to gasp for air. “Because I know you’re not the type who never thinks things through.”

Arthur grinned at him. “I might be young but I enjoy a little specificity.” He said, sliding his hands down Eames’ pants.

 

EPILOGUE

In the end, Arthur got his scholarship, all the schools he wanted and spectacularly laid once or twice before Eames documented his regrets the night before he left to teach English in the JET program or whatever, as a trail of small bruises down the back of Arthur’s shoulders and legs.

Arthur graduated with the rest of his class, his good mood mistaken by many to be the relief of high school being over. Ariadne punched him a few times, crying about being left alone to train the newbies in the art of the vicious rebuttal.

Arthur stood on the stage, facing his classmates. “Hey, you guys. I know many of you only know me in passing. That’s totally you’re fault,” he grinned in relief. “I’ll keep it short. You're waiting for a train, a train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can't be sure. This train’s stopped at a new station and we’re all getting off to switch lines. But I hope that means we’ll be better people by then. So until that day comes--,” Arthur reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the loaded die that Eames’ had sent him as a graduation present.

 _No need to take any chances, Arthur,_ Eames had written in the card. _Make our own luck, shall we, love?_

“—until that day comes,” Arthur repeated. “Let’s dream a little bigger, darlings.”

 

\- END -


End file.
